Belated Birthday
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: Damn Virgil! He forgot my 21st birthday. How could he do such a thing? We've been friends so so long, and now I'm left here to celebrate by myself. Yippee. .:. Belated birthday gift for Cherrie-Keane! VR. Rated for light swearing and one innuendo.


**A/N: Happy (EXTREMELY) belated birthday, Cherrie-Keane! Hope you like your present~ ;P**

**Side note: this is in Richie's POV. Because I love him so, and writing for him is entertaining to me. XD**

**Also: I don't know Richie's birthday, so I just made it random. I apologize if this angers any uber-hardcore fans. I mean, I've seen every single episode of SS, and yet they never mention any specific birthdays, so what am I to do…?! D:**

* * *

I can't believe that my best friend forgot my birthday.

I mean, we've known each other for _how _many years? He should know when my birthday is. I know that he gets busy with the Teen Titans, and I can respect that, but it makes me feel as though I'm some small, insignificant _thing_ in his life. Because I've turned twenty-one, and that's a major milestone, isn't it? I can drink now. And we promised ourselves when we were freshman that when we turned twenty-one, we'd go out drinking together, just to try it.

But here I am, twenty-one for forty-eight hours, and Virgil is a no-show.

Damn him.

You know, maybe I should do something. Go out, see a movie, have a drink by myself – _anything,_ since I'm pretty pathetic, sitting here alone in the basement headquarters of the gas station. We usually meet up here whenever he's in town, and he's in town right now, and yet… I haven't seen him. Just where the hell did my electric friend disappear to? I would worry if I weren't so furious with him at the moment.

I sigh to myself and spin counterclockwise in my working chair. So much for friendship. And birthdays. And feeling good about yourself.

_Damn_ him.

And it doesn't help that I have such, uh, _strong feel_– I mean,_ hero worship_ towards him. Nope, that doesn't help at all. Not one bit.

I push my feet against the nearest surface and soar across the cement floor to about halfway across the room, the light breeze rustling my blond hair. I sigh again and with an exasperated grunt, force myself out of my comfortable chair. I grab my light brown pleather (it's not real leather) jacket and head up the secret entrance into an alleyway near the gas station. Night is just falling, dusk like a sweetly refreshing glass of iced tea in the summer to my soul. It tastes like spring, even though it's late March and not quite fully recovered from winter just yet. It's great.

I inhale deeply as I turn out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. Suddenly, the breath is knocked out of me as Sharon comes running into me from behind. I can tell that it's Virgil's sister by the little gruff groan she makes as she picks herself up off of the asphalt. No one else has the same voice, that much is sure. I turn around and offer my hand, but by this time she's already on her feet.

"I was just looking for you, Richie!" She exclaims a bit breathlessly, as if she had been running. "Have you seen my Baby Brother? He was supposed to check in with me…"

I subtly grit my teeth in irritation. "No, I haven't seen him. I was just on my way home, though, and since it's kind of far, I could help you look for a little while."

"Really? Oh, that's great! Thanks, Richie, you're a peach." Sharon has been awfully cheery lately, and I think it has something to do with the fact that her wedding is next month. But that's just, you know, a little hunch. Just a tiny little one.

She starts tugging me in her aggressive-Sharon-way down the sidewalk. "Whoa, what's the rush, Shar?" I question her with a frown decorating my brow.

When she starts snickering, I know something is up. But even with my brilliant mind, I can't think of what might be going on.

"Come on, Sharon, cut it out. I thought you were worried about Virgil?" I say, and she seems to calm down some.

"Oh, I am. But I have a _really_ good feeling about your apartment. He randomly stops there sometimes, doesn't he?" she replies, and I nod in agreement, because she is completely correct: half the time the superhero stops by my place for a quick meal out of my fridge or to check in with me. Sharon visits on occasion, too, for help with some technical problem or to see if Virgil is there. She still doesn't know about his superheroing, but that's okay; Virgil prefers it that way, in order to keep his older sister safe from his enemies. I think that's wise of him.

As we get closer to my apartment, however, I begin questioning her words and meaning. She has a "really good feeling" about my apartment, huh? Well, if that isn't conspicuous, I don't know what is. Something is definitely going on. And I wonder why I'm not one of the informed?

Shaking my head, I decide to play along. Maybe another clue will help me figure it all out. In the meantime, I'm nearly my apartment and Sharon is becoming more and more excited. "I think I see his car! He must be here after all!"

Sure enough, the car Virgil uses to keep up appearances is parked in the lot beside the apartment building. His lisence plate reads 'ELCTRC 1', or, if said enough times aloud, 'electric one.' I told him it was too obvious; he said that no one would make the connection, and besides, it was a cool plate name so he was keeping it. Stubborn prat. Still, he's been safe thus far even with having it, so I let him do what he liked.

As soon as we're out of the elevator and in front of my door, Sharon is bouncing up and down. I shake my head at her; why is she suddenly so eager to see her little brother? – Then again, he's been gone for almost a year this time, and even though I knew that he's been in town for a couple days doesn't mean that his sister knew from the start. So I guess it makes sense. After all, they've been on much better terms since Virgil graduated from high school and decided to become (_somewhat_) mature.

When I unlock the door Sharon races inside before I can even turn on the light. The second I do flip the switch, however, I regret it.

In a burst of light, bright color, and cheering, my eyes and ears adjust to realize that confetti is falling frown the ceiling, there are balloons ad streamers covering my apartment like some child's birthday party and everybody I know is present. My parents, Virgil's father and his police officer girlfriend, Daisy, Frieda, Sharon and her fiance Adam, Talon (although she doesn't go by that name anymore; she's changed sides back when she returned being a human), Bruce Wayne (Batman), Clark Kent (Superman) and his girlfriend Louis Lane, Dick Greyson (Robin), and Virgil: my best friend, hero, partner, and my – (_my everything_); the man who planned this himself (or so I assume).

The first thing I do is get a hug from my mother, who keeps calling me her "big, strong, grown-up boy." I don't tell her that 'grown-up boy' is an oxymoron. Then I get a slap on the back from my father, and it all goes downhill from there.

I refuse to relay the exact details of the so-called party. It lasts all of two hours, but it is the worst thing I have ever endured because I want to cry throughout the entire thing. While smoozing with the guests, I avoid Virgil at every chance I get out of spite, and drink far too much; I know I am, even if my superior intelligence prevents me from getting utterly wasted. I am still buzzed out of my mind.

I want to cry because I am relieved that no one – especially Virgil – actually forgot about my birthday. I want to cry because I'm mad at Virgil for making me believe that he forgot about my special day and _me_. I want to cry because I an overjoyed with seeing everybody here, including a miniature collection of superheros. Most of all, I want to cry because I love Virgil so much for setting up a surprise party, since he's never done so n the past, and it feels extremely wonderful even if it startled me to hell and made me also hate him a little bit in the same token.

After everyone leaves except for Virgil, I accidentally let a few tears spill beneath my glasses while I clean up some of the mess on the snack table.

"No, Rich, don't clean up! I'm supposed to do it! It's your party, man, so you aren't supposed to lift a finger."

"But it's my apartment, so I might as well do something. I have to take care of it, you know."

But as I say this, he notices. He tilts his head and leans over into my to see around my oval spectacles. "Ohmigod, Richie! What's wrong? I'm so sorry!"

"What are you sorry for?" I murmur as I sniffle while wiping my nose against the sleeve of my hoodie. I never stopped wearing them, ever since I discovered them halfway through middle school.

"I think I made you cry. Is it because you didn't like the party? I know you hate surprises, Rich, but I thought this one would be a good one –"

"No, no, it's not that," I say softly, and a smile jumps onto my lips before I stop it. "It was great honest. But… I dunno… I was hurt, Virg. I thought you forgot all about my birthday, about _me._ I thought… I guess I thought that you were too big for friends, to remember them and the little things about them like their birthdays, and that, though all your busy hero-work and rapid fame, you… didn't want somebody like me around you anymore."

"Goddammit, Richie…" Virgil whispers harshly as he runs his fingers over his recently obtained cornrows, "How could you think that? I'm not like that! …Am I? I mean, I know I can get pretty cocky and act far from modest, and I know that I make some bad choices here and there, but have I ever given you reason to doubt me like that, man? I'm kinda offended… or, at least, I would be if I didn't feel so guilty right now." He sighs and steps closer to me, my accursed automatic blush flaring up. His arms wrap around me in a comforting embrace, and I allow myself to crumble into their strong hold. "I'm sorry if I made you doubt our friendship, Rich. Honestly, I would never forget your birthday, not really. Even if we stopped being best buds – which would never happen, by the way – I would still remember. I care about you, Richie Foley, and don't _you _forget _that._"

"So then, next time," I tease, "You'll warn me ahead of time, and I can just _act _like I'm surprised?"

He chuckles, throaty and warm, in my ear. I shudder. "Yeah, okay." He gives me a final squeeze, like all people do before they let go of you, but after he squeezes me, he doesn't let go. I tense up.

"Uh, Virg? You're kind of in my personal space."

"Oh. Sorry," he mutters. For a moment when he releases me, I see a disappointed expression on his face. I frown at it before he covers it up with his usual carefree grin.

"Something on your mind, bro?" I ask him. He suddenly appears nervous.

"Um. Nothing," he says after a while. He immediately turns around and starts cleaning at a hasty speed.

"…Virgil?"

He ignores me. On purpose. I scowl at his retreating back.

"Virgil!"

He visibly flinches, but doesn't respond. Still, he knows that I know something is wrong.

"Virgil…" I warn, and he sighs reluctantly. He puts down the trash bag he had been collecting soda cans and wrappers in. he turns to face me with an unreadable expression on his face, but not a blank one. This is, oddly enough, a new expression I have never before seen on him. And here I thought I knew all of his emotional facial changes…

"I apologize, Richie, but I afraid that you'd get mad at me if I tried something."

"Tried what?" I say, my curiosity sparked.

He smiles sheepishly. "I have a little birthday gift for you."

By the look on his face now, I sense something romantic. I immediately shake my head with as much firmness as I'm capable of, even if my insides are quaking with adrenaline. "Nuh-uh, no. No way. I know that look, V, and I know what you do when you get it. I wouldn't be mad, but I wouldn't be happy with you, either."

"I swear it's not bad!"

"But I bet it's cheesy," I retort. As much as I secretly want whatever his 'little birthday gift' is, the embarrassment and possible regret on his behalf isn't worth it.

He flushes purple on his creamy cocoa skin. He scratches his cheek as he avoids my gaze. "Er, well, yeah, it's cheesy, but hey, I'm a cheesy person, aren't I? My catch phrase and use of puns is proof!"

I don't argue with him. He made a very valid point just now. I nod my head once. "Alright, true, but still: don't even dare, Virgil."

He gives me his best puppy-dog eyes. "Please, Richie?" he begs. "Let me give it to you!"

If this scene weren't so innocent, those words could sound so very dirty.

I cough into my hand to rid myself of any even remotely perverted thoughts. I don't know why, but I cave in. "Fine! Give me your stupid gift!" I clench my teeth together. "But I won't like it," I add. I know that this is a lie. I'm sure I'll love it, whatever it is. I just hope it's not as cheesy as…

Virgil grins triumphantly and grabs hold of me. In one swoop, he presses my body to his and locks out mouths together. The action is awkward, but warm and enjoyable at the same time. My head grows dizzy from the suddenness paired with the blood cells rushing to my face.

…As cheesy as a kiss.

Damn him.

And yet I can't deny that it's the best present anybody has ever given me, especially any gift the infamous Static has bestowed on me.


End file.
